


In its Darkness Find You By

by Vampiric_Charms



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 17:19:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8676061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: Dreams and visions of things long past, things to come, things unknown.  Sometimes, however, their hold is broken, the way is clear - and even if the relief is temporary, it is something much loved because of the one whose hand offers such solace.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another temporary deviation. Enjoy!

The darkness was thick and foul, heavy as it weighed in from all sides.  He could feel it creeping over his body like oil, covering him like a film and dragging him away from everything he thought he knew, thought he remembered.  Scents of rotting flesh, of clotting blood and stale sweat, things wet and repulsive clinging to his skin and curdling into his nose.   

The weight on his chest was heavy, suffocating and filled with anger he did not understand or fully grasp as it swept around him.  He could not tell if it was his own anger, or if the anger belonged to someone else - belonged to his captor in this, the creator of this darkness, the creator of his _madness_.  It pressed down, heavier and with intensity he wished desperately to be free from, and he found he could not breathe.

He thrashed out, but his arms met only with cold, slick restraints, and the cords slithered across his chest, his shoulders, like great snakes as they held him down. 

A voice called to him from across the titanic distance of everlasting darkness, a golden light sparking with a flare of life, but suddenly that sweetness vanished, swallowed again into the black murk as the stench of blood-covered flesh overwhelmed him once more.  Instead of the faint call, the sound of chains followed the movements of those odd snakes across his body, tugging and shoving across one another, the links collapsing against his skin and leaving burns of horrible cold.  No - a vicious heat.

He could not tell.  He could no longer tell what one thing was and what another was not. 

Madness, this was.

A pressure on his shoulder, the voice again.  Still the darkness remained, no golden light to break into those heavy, weaving clouds.  But a soft touch, and the snakes, the chains, everything continued to move, not allowing him to understand what was happening.   

Abruptly his consciousness shifted.  The room was dark, but _this_ darkness was fragmented with the coals of a fire dying in its grate, casting light and shadow across tapestries and stone and furniture.  He did not recognize where he was, and the bed felt too soft, a trick of gentleness attempting to lure him in with waiting treachery should he lower his walls even the tiniest bit.  

There was a hand still at his shoulder, he realized with a start, and he jerked away to fling his legs over the side of the bed, ready to flee.

“Nelyo, wait.”

The call was quiet, _real_ , and Maedhros paused in his confused attempt to disentangle himself of the blankets around his body.  His mind was slowly starting to calm down, and to catch up.  He blinked and clenched his jaw, running his hand over his face half expecting to be met with wounds and fresh blood.  His skin was dampened with sweat, but otherwise clean.

Fingon scooted closer and sat up onto his knees, touching one of Maedhros’s shoulders again and leaning forward until his lips were at his ear, certain to be heard.  “You’re all right,” he murmured calmly.  “You’re not in any danger here.”

A dream, of course it had been.  And the room, this was Fingon’s bedroom in Hithlum, a fair enough reason not to recognize it straight away given how rarely Maedhros was here.  Some of the tension left his back and neck in a rush, and Fingon gently pulled him to the pillows.  Maedhros let himself be led without resistance as his reality settled around him once more, not serene so much as lacking the wild disorder in his mind he sometimes found himself with.

Fingon curled against his side, gazing up at him through the shifting shadows.  “Would you like me to stoke the fire again?” he asked softly, reaching up to tenderly brush some sweat-dampened hair away from Maedros’s face.  “It is rather dark, with the moon and stars hiding behind so many clouds.”  

He had noticed the horrible disorientation, then, though Maedhros was thankful he did not mention it outright.  Something squeezed at his heart, chasing away the fear that had clutched so tightly just seconds before.  Maedhros stared down at Fingon, settled so comfortably beside him, and felt himself relaxing in a way he never felt when he was alone.  

“No need, not unless you are cold,” he replied with a little smile.

“Then I will stay here.”  

He lowered his head down to Maedhros’s chest, tucking it under his chin as he tugged the blankets to rights up about them.  Maedhros turned slightly to take some of the weight off his damaged shoulder and used the advantage to wrap both of his arms around Fingon’s body, holding him close as the last wisps of the dream flitted away to leave only a trembling memory behind.  Fingon slipped one of his legs between Maedhros’s, hooking them together and pulling himself in more snugly. 

Sure not to go anywhere, he used to joke, back when they were young and innocent, still bathed by the light of the Trees and far from harm's touch here in this dangerous new world.  

It was surprisingly comfortable, truly, if only because Maedhros knew, in the moment, he was exactly where he thought he was.  There was no trap here this time, no foul trick to damage his heart more than it had been already.  He was, in every sense, safe.  He pressed his nose to the side of Fingon’s head, contented.

“Would you like to talk about it?  Your dream?”

Fingon sounded tired, and Maedhros loved him all the more for asking when he could so easily fall back to sleep.  He kissed Fingon’s hair.  “I’ve already forgotten,” he said quietly, and it was the truth as the words fell from his lips.  “Thank you for waking me and keeping me safe from the horrors of the night.”

“‘S what I’m here for,” he slurred back, already starting to doze off.

Maedhros threaded the fingers of his hand through Fingon’s hair, feeling the loose knots of braids that had not yet come all the way undone, and turned his face more fully to the side of Fingon’s head.  Another dream would come - another dream always came - but this night, at least, he was not to face the madness alone.

 

 


End file.
